


sports anime drabbles and one shots

by Miyukitty



Category: Free!, Fruits Basket, Haikyuu!!, Ookiku Furikabutte | Big Windup!, Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Warriors - Erin Hunter, ちはやふる | Chihayafuru, 弱虫ペダル | Yowamushi Pedal
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Final Haikyu Quest, Ambiguous Relationships, Angst and Feels, Challenge: Sports Anime Shipping Olympics | SASO 2015, Clubbing, Confessions, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Dubcon Kissing, F/F, F/M, First Meetings, Fluff, Gen, Infertility, Injury Recovery, Insecurity, Intersex, Jealousy, Kissing, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Mild Blood, Mild Language, Multi, One Shot Collection, Other, Poetry, Polyamory, Possessive Behavior, Prompt Fill, Shorts, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-02 19:27:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 12,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4071823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miyukitty/pseuds/Miyukitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of various prompt fills from the DW Sports Anime Shipping Olympics 2015. Ratings and pairings listed in chapter titles; feel free to navigate by chapter, as each is a standalone. Minimum length 400 words prose or 14 lines of poetry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Aya/Miki, G

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _"I hated you from the beginning - and I must have loved you from the beginning, too."_ \- Yuri Kuma Arashi

 

What was so great about bicycles, anyway?

 

Aya listened with thinly-veiled annoyance and fought to keep a scowl off her face. Her foot tapped impatiently on the sidewalk. She was going to be late to tennis club at this rate. She raised her arms over her head and began doing warm-up stretches, because why not? It wasn't like anything was going to discourage this chatterbox from talking at her.

 

The first day of middle school had just ended. The bright-eyed girl who sat next to her in homeroom had eagerly introduced herself – _Kanzaki Miki, a pleasure to meet you, Aya-chan!_ Aya squinted at her, blinded by the brightness of her smile, and slowly extricated her crushed fingers from the zealous handshake.

 

Miki was more feminine than her, tresses of long brunette hair flowing down to her waist, sporting cute little decorative hair clips and the biggest doe eyes she had ever seen outside of a Disney movie. Aya was a tomboy, plain and stocky and average, straight hair shorn above her shoulders for convenience when she was on the court. She wasn't really comfortable around girly-girls. They seemed like fragile china to her, and as much as she liked looking at things that were delicate and pretty, she didn't want to break them.

 

Aya was ready to write Miki off as one of those types who wanted to have sleepovers and paint each others' nails while they talked about boys, but still, she had to open her dumb mouth and offer one lukewarm attempt at conversation.

 

_Do you like sports?_

 

And that was how she found herself in this predicament: cornered against the chain link fence near the athletic fields after class, itching to go to the first tennis club meeting and make a good impression with her new captain, but unable to tear herself away from Miki's impassioned speech about her family's bicycle shop and the sport of road racing.

 

 _You're so annoying_ , Aya thought viciously but said nothing.

 

_Do you not have any friends? Why are you following me?_

 

She didn't get what was so exciting about bikes. She knew how to ride one, but her house was close enough to school that she could just walk. A bicycle was just a mode of transportation, right? She didn't understand people who got excited over fancy cars, either. All that mattered was practicality. Getting from point A to point B.

 

Aya had stopped listening to the one-sided conversation a while ago, but she still stared attentively. Late afternoon sunlight gleamed off long eyelashes, washed warm hues into impossibly wide brown eyes, illuminated the pink flush dusting cheekbones. Miki smelled like strawberries (was it her lip gloss, or maybe her shampoo?).

 

 _You're so cute_ , Aya realized but still said nothing.

 

_Do you not have any friends that appreciate this passion of yours? You can tell I'm not interested but you followed me anyway. I guess I don't mind lending you an ear._

 

_I guess it's okay if I'm a little late to tennis just this once… right?_


	2. Sousuke & Oikawa, T

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _"When you feel like quitting, think about why you started"_ \--- Unknown

 

The physical therapist's waiting room was decorated blandly, with generic landscape photographs framed on the walls and a rather ugly beige carpet. Soothing music piped in from a wall speaker. The receptionist was working on a crossword puzzle and hummed idly along to the melody without realizing she was doing so.

 

Oikawa Tooru sprawled out on the bench with his usual careless grace. He had his earbuds in so he could blast his trashy pop songs over the office's boring background music. Concealed beneath his loose track pants was the knee supporter he had to wear for at least another month. He smiled pleasantly at the receptionist and shot her a flirty wink. She smiled shyly and ducked her head.

 

He had finished his morning appointment already and was waiting for his mom to come pick him up. Normally he would take advantage of being in Tokyo and wander about to go shopping, but after these sessions his knee always burned unpleasantly, and he'd prefer to hide his weakness than limp about on the streets and be pitied. It was the same reason he didn't drag Iwaizumi along, but now with no one to annoy, he was _bored_.

 

"You're taking up the whole bench. Move over," a gruff voice muttered.

 

Oikawa pulled out his earbuds and sat up, an intrigued smile flickering across his handsome countenance. The teenager who sat down next to him had his arm in a sling – a shoulder brace, he corrected mentally. This guy was _big_ , broad-shouldered and bulky with muscle, just barely half-a-centimeter taller than Oikawa but significantly heavier.

 

_Easy on the eyes, too, even if he scowls worse than Iwa-chan._

 

"Football?" Oikawa guessed. Rotator cuff tears were common; could be his throwing arm.

 

"…Swimming," the brute growled.

 

Oikawa hummed in interest. "My school doesn't have a swim team. I'm from Miyagi. The one and only Oikawa Tooru, volleyball ace! Are you from around here, Frowning-kun?"

 

The teen shot him a death glare. Oikawa only smiled his sweetest shit-eating grin, and had the gall to flutter his eyelashes.

 

After a long moment, the swimmer rubbed his shoulder distractedly and gritted out, "Tottori prefecture. And I hate nicknames. 'Sousuke' is fine."

 

Oikawa whistled appreciatively. "You're a long ways out! It must take you forever and a day to get here, but this is the best sports medicine clinic in the country. Frowning-kun, you must have a bright future in swimming."

 

He didn't miss the way Sousuke's eyes darkened, and not just because of his insistence on using the nickname. Oikawa always did have a knack for honing in on weakness, especially when he was trying to hide his own. He waited calmly, predicting that Sousuke wouldn't be able to let it slide.

 

Sousuke glared a hole through one of the pictures on the wall. "…Not anymore. I can't keep up with the team with my shoulder holding me back. Not that it's any business of yours, but it'll only get weaker. There's no coming back from this."

 

Oikawa stilled. That feeling was all too close to his heart. He had felt the ground drop out from beneath his sneakers the night his knee had given out on him.

 

_(Practicing jump serves long after his teammates had gone home, screwing up the landing, screaming himself hoarse into an empty gym until he could drag himself to his cell phone and call for someone to save him from himself.)_

 

Oikawa smiled thinly, warm brown eyes razor-sharp with the memory of that pain. He still had goals to accomplish – teams to crush – and so he would continue on this path even if his body was torn to shreds in the process.

 

If he couldn't earn a volleyball scholarship, he would get into college on academic merit alone and force his way onto the team. He would not be stopped by an injury. He would not be stopped by anything.

 

"What a load of bullshit," Oikawa stated cheerfully.

 

"It's none of your damn business, brat," Sousuke growled. His large hands gripped his knees.

 

"Yeah, I wouldn't know anything about overworking for a sport," Oikawa lilted sarcastically, hiking up his pants leg so that the white brace was visible around his swollen joint.

 

Sousuke's drooping eyes cast a quick glance at him, then returned to staring at the wall. "What, do you think you understand me because you got hurt too? Just shut the hell up and leave me alone," he muttered.

 

Oikawa smiled and leaned in closer, unable to resist doing the opposite of what he was told. "You're right, I don't understand. In fact, I was just wondering," he asked with deceptive innocence, "what it was that motivated you to try so hard you broke yourself, but is now so unimportant that you want to quit and give it up. Seems rather fickle, doesn't it? Did you ever really want it at all…?"

 

Sousuke's hand closed around his jacket collar and shoved him roughly against the wall. Oikawa stared fearlessly, eyes bright with smug satisfaction at having teased a reaction out of the stoic teenager. He smiled his sickly-sweet grin, and Sousuke let him go with a grunt of annoyance.

 

"Before you give it up, maybe think about why you started in the first place, hm?" Oikawa winked. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his mom at the counter talking to the receptionist. Time to go home, finally.

 

"I'll see you around, Sou-chan!"

 

Oikawa flashed him a peace sign for good measure. And if looks could kill, Sousuke would have murdered him for the tenth time that morning.


	3. Kuroo/Kenma, G

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:  
>  _"Soft Kitty, Warm Kitty,_  
>  _little ball of fur._  
>  _Happy Kitty, Sleepy Kitty,_  
>  _purr, purr, purr."_ \- Sheldon from ABC's  The Big Bang Theory

 

Sometimes Kuroo liked watching foreign television shows over the internet. Kenma thought this was a weird hobby when they weren't subtitled. He also knew Kuroo barely spoke a word of English and couldn't possibly follow what was going on.

 

Still, he tried not to complain about raucous laugh tracks and pop music when Kuroo lounged on his bed with Kenma's laptop balanced precariously on his knees. He had games to conquer, and if Kuroo wanted to spend another lazy weekend together like this, so be it. He might voice a complaint or two once Kuroo inevitably started commenting on what he _thought_ the plot was, though.

 

"Oho, check out the dress that blonde chick is wearing! She must be going on a date, right? Ohoho, but her friend with the glasses looks jealous, I bet he's gonna-"

 

"Kuro. You're too loud. I can't concentrate on this level."

 

Kenma shifted restlessly beside him on the mattress, golden eyes riveted on his PSP screen. Kuroo smirked and ruffled his pudding hair. Kenma mewled in annoyance but couldn't do anything about it – he needed both hands on the controls, and Kuroo knew this all too well. Kenma retaliated by maneuvering a foot between them to kick Kuroo repeatedly in the ribs until he left Kenma's hair alone.

 

Kuroo guffawed loudly and nearly dropped the laptop. "That's ticklish and you know it," he chortled. "Also your feet are tiny and cold– oi, careful, do you want to break your computer?"

 

Kenma's eyes narrowed, though he didn't look up. "I want you to go downstairs and watch K-dramas with my mom. You two can talk all you want about fictional foreigners being jealous of who dates whom."

 

Kuroo's lazy smirk grew broader. He paused the video, set the laptop aside, and rolled over to sprawl his long limbs over Kenma. "Your mom doesn't let me cuddle her as much," he murmured into the nape of Kenma's neck.

 

"I should hope not, you're underage," Kenma deadpanned. Kuroo nuzzled in closer and started pressing kisses against any bare skin he could find. Kenma shivered and curled more tightly around his PSP. He made a small whimpering noise as teeth nipped lightly at his collarbone, then blushed in embarrassment.

 

"Kuro, I wanna finish this level…" Kenma whined. The video game was already difficult enough without a clingy boyfriend trying to tease him. "You're so distracting. Go back to your dumb American television and let me concentrate."

 

"So cold," Kuroo announced with feigned sadness, but not before he leaned over and licked a wet stripe up Kenma's cheek. Kenma squalled in disgust and hammered his heels into Kuroo's stomach, knocking the wind from him.

 

"Eww, you're disgusting, it's so wet, I hate you, wipe it off I need my hands—"

 

Kuroo guffawed again before blotting his saliva with his sleeve. "There, I made it aaaall better," he drawled, before starting up his show again.

 

They lay in relative silence for a while, listening to the combined soundtrack of the RPG and chattering English voices. Kenma leaned his back into Kuroo's side, drawn automatically to the comforting warmth beside him. He tensed briefly as he felt fingers in his hair, but this time it wasn't to muss and tease. Kenma sighed contentedly as Kuroo stroked his hair the way he liked, slow and gentle.

 

The afternoon sun was warm through the window. Kenma shifted slightly to offset the glare on his handheld screen. Kuroo yawned as the episode ended, and slumped back over to snuggle against Kenma's back. Kenma wasn't paying much attention as Kuroo clicked lazily through the downloads folder, but perked up when he heard a song playing.

 

"What's this?" he murmured, fighting off a yawn of his own.

 

"It's from that show. I Googled the lyrics and it's about a cat. Thought you might like it," Kuroo whispered. He kept stroking Kenma's hair as he hummed the lullaby under his breath.

 

"…Not fair," Kenma muttered before finally pausing his game. He could barely keep his eyes open.

 

"I don't know what you're talking about," Kuroo lied pleasantly. He pressed a chaste kiss to the back of Kenma's head, and used his free hand to move the PSP out of harm's way. "It's not like warm sunlight, gentle melodies, and getting petted has any effect on you. You're not an _actual_ cat, right?"

 

But Kenma had already drifted off to sleep.


	4. IwaOi HQ!Quest, T

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _"You deserved better from me than one sword and a world of troubles."_ -Chrom,  Fire Emblem Awakening

 

The Grand King posed dramatically, dark cape fluttering in the breeze. He must look very dashing right now, or so he figured. He sneered as he stared down his nose at the meddlesome intruders making their last stand.

 

"We demons will plunder this world! It is ours for the taking," Oikawa hissed, red eyes flashing dangerously. "How dare you challenge _me_. Kuroo and Kiyoko may have succumbed, but I will not bow to the likes of you, _heroes_."

 

He wasn't surprised to see Tobio-chan betray him – or rather, for his troops to mutiny against Tobio and render all his arrogant pride utterly useless. He had always been a disposable pawn in this game, and Oikawa had taken no small pleasure in watching him leave the kingdom in disgrace, abandoning his armor for the rags of a common archer.

 

The redheaded Chibi-chan was a nuisance, but it didn't matter if he picked up Tobio-chan as the charity case he was. Tobio was a worthless scrap of trash to grind beneath the heel of his polished white boots. He had barely raised an eyebrow when Chibi-chan went about raising an army, if it could be called that – the wall of muscle might be intimidating one on one, but it was hardly a threat to a demon king, and Kuroo's genre-savvy little friend and his pet bird wouldn't tip the scales.

 

It was Iwaizumi that cracked the glossy veneer of confidence.

 

"So serious, Iwa-chan, you'll get frown lines grimacing like that," Oikawa taunted, but didn't make eye contact. Try as he might, his smile faltered at the sight of his knight, his most loyal protector, leveling the sword at his chest. He laughed and repelled the paladin with a wave of dark magic, but the laugh felt like shards of glass were caught in his throat. He had waited so long to see him again, but it had to turn out like this.

 

He thought he could take on the world as long as Iwaizumi was by his side. Hadn't they made an oath to stay together? Wasn't that the reason Iwaizumi first took up a sword?

 

The first blow to hit home was an arrow. Oikawa glowered at Kageyama, but before he could wrench the wooden shaft from his shoulder and transmute his kouhai into finger paint, the little redhead finished their combination. Oikawa yelped as the glowing sword slashed a shallow wound across his chest and sent him staggering backward.

 

"You dare strike a king?" Oikawa seethed through a vicious smile. "You'll pay for that insolence, Chibi-chan, Tobio-chan."

 

"His barrier spell is down. I'll buff your stats, so everyone, attack now," Kenma's flat voice called over the din of battle.

 

The heroes let out a rallying cry and charged. They didn't know what they were dealing with.

 

Oikawa dropped his playful façade and snarled. He raised his arms and summoned billowing waves of demonic power, then released it. It was his finishing move. Tendrils of black smoke seeped into the weak spots in their hearts, amplifying their insecurities and turning their fears against them.

 

A whimpering Hinata clung to Kageyama and Kenma, while Aone attempted to shield them with his bulk. One by one the heroes cried out and dropped to their knees.

 

All but Iwaizumi.

 

Iwaizumi strode calmly through the storm and came to face Oikawa head-on with a scowl. The demonic aura washed harmlessly off his enchanted armor. The blade was pointed at the Grand King's chest, and this time, Oikawa didn't knock it aside. His fingers came up to brush against the steel, touching it almost affectionately.

 

That sword had been a gift. Once upon a time, Oikawa had that sword forged just so he could present it to his loyal retainer. Iwaizumi was still using it; how sentimental.

 

_Oikawa knighted him Sir Iwa-chan and ordered the troops to refer to him as such, and what a lovely shade of red Iwaizumi's face had become as he roared in protest and chased him around the throne room. He couldn't help but tease – his demon blood ran hot for tricks and lies – but at least Iwa-chan always kept the worst of it in check. He never once thought Iwa-chan would leave him someday._

 

"You were supposed to stop me before I went too far," Oikawa pouted, as though his conquest was Iwaizumi's fault. "You promised."

 

"Why do you think I joined _them_?" the knight retorted gruffly.

 

Then Iwaizumi pushed forward, piercing Oikawa's black heart.

 

His breath hitched into a gasp, but he barely made a sound as the sword sank in to the hilt. Oikawa's shaking hands clasped around Iwaizumi's as he swayed on his feet. Blood spattered the ground, staining his white boots red. The demon's skin went deathly pale, red eyes glazed over, but he still struggled to smile.

 

"You deserved better from me…"

 

_…Than one sword, and a world of troubles._

 

Oikawa thudded to his knees, as Hinata and the heroes let out a rousing cheer.

 

"The Grand King is defeated! We did it!"

 

As the others rejoiced, Iwaizumi's fingers stroked through soft hair, and came to grasp at the base of his horns, tipping his limp head up. Something was pressed to his lips. The sword was wrenched free, and as the knight wiped the blade clean on the hem of Oikawa's cloak, he muttered something low for the king's ears alone. 

 

"Like hell I'm letting you have a dramatic death scene, dumbass. I used a potion on you. Stand up, Shittykawa."

 

Oikawa peeked through one eye. "No, no, Iwa-chan, you're supposed to cradle my broken body to your strong chest, give me one last kiss, and then weep manly tears for me. Don't you know anything?"

 

Iwaizumi tilted his chin up and glared dangerously. The vein on his forehead throbbed. "I'm going to stab you again. I only had one potion, but I swear, Shittykawa, after you made me go through an entire campaign—"

 

Oikawa yipped in pain as the knight kicked him in the ribs. He hastily gathered his stained cloak and scrambled to his feet, attempted to strike a dashing pose to leave a lingering impression on the heroes, and was promptly kicked in the back by the same brutish knight. Iwaizumi waved to the heroes before turning to deal with Oikawa.

 

"So mean, Iwa-chaaaan!" the Grand King wailed as he was marched off by his ear.


	5. Arata/Chihaya/Taichi (poetry), G

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _“You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it.”_ ― J.K. Rowling,  Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

 

Wataya Arata is water

 

A cool and calming presence, quiet with hidden depths of blue,

 

And the intensity of an undertow

 

That pulls others beneath the ocean surface when they get too close

 

 

Ayase Chihaya is fire

 

Bright and warm, sparks, burning with vivid red passion

 

She is a beacon illuminating darkness

 

Drawing heliotropes from their shadows, singeing their edges

 

 

Mashima Taichi is earth

 

Solid ground for others to stand upon, steadfast and level,

 

Sharp and unyielding stone when he needs to be, but

 

Capable of crumbling under the elements

 

 

At tournaments they are each a force of nature

 

Clawing their way to the top with the hopes of meeting each other there

 

To clash as they are drawn inexorably together by karuta

 

Three souls in dissonance until they reach balance in the quiet after

 

 

When Chihaya kisses Arata

 

He feels liquid fire rush through his veins

 

Coruscating with light for her, pure and undying and loyal

 

Brighter than he can bear to look at

 

 

When Taichi kisses Chihaya

 

She melts into him, kindling the embers

 

Of his unspoken promises to always be her support

 

Until they are both immolated by the force of it

 

 

When Arata kisses Taichi

 

He feels a shy, gentle soul yearning for his acceptance

 

A powerful, crushing soul he fears he will drown in

 

And waves eroding his defenses until he yields to both

 

 

When the closing ceremonies are completed, trophies given, ranks bestowed

 

Chihaya holds both of their hands in the hotel lobby

 

Kisses the calluses on their fingers

 

 

Aches to be with them, always;

 

Aches to measure her strength against them, always;

 

And promises that they will be united again when the next match comes

 

 

Always.


	6. Mihashi/Abe, G

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _"Love is the most important thing in the world, but baseball is pretty good too."_ \- [Greg, age 8](http://www.rinkworks.com/said/kidlove.shtml)

Cicadas droned hypnotically into the hot air, as the summer sun beat down mercilessly. It was already too warm for this sort of outing, but it was the only weekend they all had free, and it was a family tradition the men were too stubborn to flake on.

  
  
The surface of the lake shimmered and sparkled like diamonds, but it was blinding to actually look at. Colorful afterimages danced across his teary eyes as he stubbornly tried to anyway. Abe's mouth tugged into a frown, and he turned away from watching his father and brother steer the rental rowboat in confused circles. They were supposed to catch the fish, and then he and Mihashi would cook them, but he wasn't entirely confident that someone wouldn't get volunteered for a sunset run to the convenience store for onigiri or hot dogs or something. He swatted a mosquito against his sweaty arm and lamented that it would probably end up being him.

  
  
"Abe-kun," squeaked Mihashi next to him. They were both seated atop a grassy hill overlooking the lake. It would be shadier if they retreated to the tree line, but there were more insects there, so the direct sunlight was the lesser of two evils. They both sported their Nishiura High caps in a futile attempt to protect their faces from the unforgiving sun.

  
  
Abe leaned back onto his hands. The grass felt dry and brittle against his palms. They needed rain, not that they would get it. "Yes?" he prompted gruffly, upon seeing the pitcher's mouth work open and closed on breathless syllables. He looked a bit like a fish out of water. (He needed to stop thinking about fish, but he was hungry.)

  
  
"Um!" Mihashi spit out, cheeks flushed red. "I, um, A-A-Abe-kun, th… th-thank you…!"

  
  
Abe cracked a grin. "What, for inviting you along? I told you, it was my dad's idea. He takes me and Shun out camping one weekend a year, and this year he said you were welcome to tag along."

  
  
Mihashi dithered in place, blinking rapidly at the lake in front of them. His fingers were twisting together in his lap, playing with torn blades of grass. Abe tilted his face into a slight breeze, desperate for anything to take the edge off the sweltering heat. His mouth watered at the thought of popsicles and air conditioning at the store. At this rate he would volunteer to go get dinner. The idiots on the lake were going to be sunburned to a crisp.

  
  
_At least I'm not in catcher's gear,_ he noted wryly.

  
  
"I may have told my dad you're good in a kitchen," Abe added as an afterthought to fill the silence between them. "That might be why he wanted you to come. Last year we ended up going hungry because our backup cans of beans exploded on the fire."

  
  
"Eh-eh-exploded?!" Mihashi yelped. His jaw dropped, eyes flew wide in imagined horror. "Th-that's dangerous-! Y-you could have been buh, buh, burned!"

  
  
Abe chuckled. "Yeah, we didn't think to open the cans. We're not exactly survivalists in this family. Save us from ourselves."

  
  
His father's loud voice boomed out over the lake, although they were too far off to hear the words. Abe hoped it was because they caught something, since otherwise it would spook all the fish – they did know fish could hear, right? They might actually not. He glanced back to Mihashi and was surprised to see him hunched over with his blushing face in his hands.

  
  
_Wait – is he scared? Is he crying? What reaction is this? What did I do this time—?!_

  
  
"Mihashi, what's wrong?" he called, then flinched when he realized his voice was too loud. Mihashi cringed down, clutching his face. A jolt of concern and annoyance caused Abe's expression to darken. He choked back his usual frustration and sucked in a deep breath, willing himself to shut up and wait. Sure enough, Mihashi began to mumble a string of barely-coherent words that Abe wished he could interpret as quickly as Tajima.

  
  
"Ah… Abe-kun… too kind… family… I'm in the way… I shouldn't have… brothers… it would be better… I can go… selfish…"

  
  
Abe sighed impatiently. "Hey, gimme your hand," he demanded. Mihashi's shoulders hunched up toward his reddening ears. He shivered despite the heat, not wanting to disobey a direct request.

  
  
After a drawn out moment of hesitation, he peeled one of his hands from his face and reached out shakily. His eyes remained screwed shut. His pitcher's calluses were rough to the touch, thin fingers trembling with nervous energy. Despite the sharpness in his tone, Abe took Mihashi's hand with surprising tenderness. It was a familiar gesture, and one Abe knew Mihashi drew comfort from.

  
  
"I asked you to come along. Obviously I want you to be here. You're never in the way." He rubbed his thumb across Mihashi's knuckles as he navigated the difficult labyrinth of phrasing. He was better at this than he used to be, but he was only human. One misstep would send Mihashi from 'a little insecure' to 'inconsolable full-blown panic mode', and it wasn't like his dad or brother knew how to talk him down. They didn't know how sensitive Mihashi was about being accepted.

  
  
When Mihashi didn't respond right away, Abe pressed further. "Why did you agree to go camping in the first place? Tell me. There must have been something you wanted to do while we were out here, right?"

  
  
Mihashi peeked through his fingers. "Um," he started softly. "I. Um. Didn't think. I'm selfish… I just wanted to b… be with Abe-kun. I like you. Remember?"

  
  
Abe smiled encouragingly. "Of course. I like you too, Mihashi-kun. I'm glad you're with me, even when it's not baseball."

  
  
Mihashi squeaked and sat up straight, eyelashes fluttering as he blinked rapidly. He seemed pleased to hear it aloud, as though he never expected to. Abe's smile faltered. It was easy enough to say casually, especially when it wasn't the first time they had that conversation. When Mihashi stared at him with such unguarded admiration, though, suddenly Abe found himself tongue-tied.

  
  
He cleared his throat, and let his gaze wander to the clear sky (even though he could _feel_ Mihashi's honey-gold stare heating up his cheeks, and damn, why was it so hot today of all days? He would have taken his shirt off already if he hadn't thought that would make this ten times as awkward as it already was!)

  
  
"Baseball's pretty good," Abe said stupidly. Mihashi nodded vigorously. Their hands clasped a little tighter despite the sweat slick between them. "But, um," the catcher muttered gruffly. He was determined to get this out while they still had time alone. "I'm happy you came here, because I… I like you even more than baseball. Thought you should know."

  
  
He didn't realize Mihashi had moved until he felt his baseball cap being pushed back, and the resultant sunlight caused him to squint. He was cautiously still as chapped lips brushed against his sticky cheek – a fast and clumsy kiss landing nowhere near his mouth, and withdrawing before he could react. He could feel his blush deepening worse than any sunburn, but he didn't move to hide it, lest he startle the trembling boy holding his hand.

  
  
"Yeah, that's pretty good too," Abe murmured in a daze.


	7. KuroKen Warrior Cats, T

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt: Warrior Cats AU_
> 
> Notes: Kind of references sexual content, infertility, dysphoria, but it's very tame and only T-rated to be safe. ~~I... can't believe I wrote this... furry kuroken~~ [Cat Kenma](http://s1.tsuki-board.net/pics/figure/big/296569.jpg?t=1426506337) is calico with Klinefelter syndrome, meaning they are intersex (XXY chromosomes, resulting in infertility and impaired vitality). They/them pronouns. :D

Sometimes they still dreamed of that distant place. A quiet bed of fabric. Dishes with guaranteed food and water. The safety and security of walls and a roof. Little toys with bells and feathers and ribbons to bat around when they had the energy. Kenma could no longer remember the colors or scents, only the gentle hands petting fur and rubbing ears until they drifted to sleep. It had not been a bad life. They had been content.

  
  
"Kenma," a low voice purred against their ear.

  
  
A rough tongue began grooming their neck fur. Kenma mewled and curled into a tighter ball. They didn't want to wake up.

  
  
"Ken-maaaa," Kuroo crooned playfully.

  
  
A paw cuffed them lightly across the muzzle. Kenma crinkled their pink nose and sneezed. Kuroo nipped at the nape of their neck, teasing the loose skin of their scruff. The tomcat flopped onto his side, curling with easy grace around Kenma's smaller form.

  
  
"You're not supposed to call me by my kittypet name," Kenma muttered, eyes still stubbornly closed. Their tail flicked in small, tight circles.

  
  
"Oho, you'd rather me call you Mottlepelt? Thought you hated that name," Kuroo drawled. Kenma didn't have to look to imagine the smug expression curling his whiskers.

  
  
"I hate everything," Kenma mumbled childishly. They yawned, delicate pink tongue curling, then rolled over to cuddle into Kuroo's side. His black fur was warm from the greenleaf sunlight, a contrast to the cool stone floor of their den. Kuroo lazily draped a forearm over Kenma's patchwork back, and took up grooming them again. Kenma sighed and stopped resisting. Every morning was like this.

  
  
Kuroo was a natural who took to the wild like he had been born there. Newcomers would never guess he had been a kittypet too. He became known as Blacktail, and in time the deputy became Blackstar, leader of the clan. Kuroo was tall and sleek and desirable, midnight coat rumpled and spiky in places, tail tip roguishly crooked from an old injury. (Kuroo liked to brag that he fought a dog to protect Kenma and got bitten, but Kenma knew the truth – the twolegs had accidentally closed a door on his tail and broken it.)

  
  
Living feral did not come naturally for Kenma. Kenma remained smaller and weaker than the warriors and hunters. They lacked both stamina and coordination. But the clan did not have a healer, and so it fell to Kenma to become medicine cat. At least being solitary suited them fine – they had no interest in taking a mate, and kits were not a possibility to begin with. They kept to themselves, gathering herbs to help but only socializing when required. If not for Kuroo, Kenma would have quit long ago. They had no other ties.

  
  
A purr rumbled deep in Kuroo's chest as he continued his enthusiastic grooming. Kenma hesitated, then gently butted against Kuroo's chin, still drowsy but warming up to the affection. Their tails twined together comfortably.

  
  
"Do you want me to fish for you again today?" Kuroo murmured against their throat.

  
  
Kenma made a noncommittal noise and nuzzled into Kuroo's warmth. Kuroo was the one constant in Kenma's life. When Kenma was taken in as a little kit, Kuroo was immediately protective of them, and taught them the rules of the house. Kuroo was their everything.

  
  
But Kuroo was also a restless adolescent on the prowl, always seeking a challenge, and never satisfied with what he found. When the clan scouted him and offered to take him into the woods as a warrior, Kuroo stated he would only join if Kenma could too. They were reluctant to take Kenma – as reluctant as Kenma was to leave the predictability of their twoleg home – but only the prospect of life without Kuroo was worse than the hardships of the wild.

  
  
"You have to keep your strength up," the tom pressed. "You've gotta train that apprentice of yours, the Russian Blue, right? You're like oil and water-"

  
  
"Don't remind me," Kenma growled, ears flattening against their skull. Kuroo chuckled knowingly but let it go.

  
  
"Why do I get saddled with an apprentice," Kenma sulked, "-when you put off taking a mate every season?"

  
  
Kuroo stilled.

  
  
Kenma continued, muzzle scrunched into a petty moue. "I have to listen to the queens complain, you know. They want their kits sired by the strongest, the smartest, the most handsome, et cetera. They won't shut up about you. You could have any queen in the clan." Their tail twitched as they waited.

  
  
When Kenma leaned up to peer at Kuroo's face, the tomcat had an oddly guarded expression. His slanting eyes darted to one side, and he replied in carefully measured tones, "Is that something you think I should do? Take a mate?"

  
  
Kenma paused. They had been teasing, needling for a reaction, but Kuroo sounded serious. Uneasiness pooled heavy in the pit of their stomach.

  
  
"I don't really care," they finally muttered, burying their face back into plush black fur. "It's whatever. You're the one who cares about the future of the clan, _Blackstar_."

  
  
Kuroo exhaled the breath he was holding, tensed muscles relaxing. He hugged more tightly around Kenma and set about vigorously licking their ears while they squirmed.

  
  
"You know I'd rather be with you than anyone else," Kuroo purred through his ministrations.

  
  
Kenma didn't respond verbally. But they felt the knot of insecurity loosen, and their eyes slipped shut in contentment. Life as a kittypet had been easier, but this wasn't all bad either. Kuroo did everything he could to support Kenma.

  
  
The calico nestled comfortably against the black tom, implicitly trusting him.

  
  
_…The only reason I'm still here is because I feel the same way._


	8. Kinjou/Makishima/Tadokoro Pokemon, G

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt: Pokemon AU where Kinjou and Tadokoro first meet facing off at the Pokeathlon in Goldenrod City. Makishima is a wealthy coordinator from Sinnoh visiting to check out the spectacle._

Makishima sat primly in the bleachers with his gangly legs crossed. He was comfortable underneath the shade of his gaudy designer parasol, even if – especially if – it encouraged other spectators to give him wide berth.

  
  
His prized Spinarak, Josephine, curled contentedly in his lap. He toyed with her pink satin bow before scratching under her chin. The little spider chirped happily and nuzzled into his long fingers. The corner of Makishima's mouth tugged up into a smirk. She was so cute. He would look into purchasing some Aprijuice for her after the games ended – just as a treat, since it was a Johto specialty and all.

  
  
He had heard all about the Pokeathlon, of course. It was as big in Johto as Contests were in Sinnoh and Hoenn. He already had enough ribbons to qualify for the Grand Festival, so in the month before the event, he decided to do some sightseeing and look for inspiration in other regions. He had some tough rivals to defeat, and maybe witnessing these feats of strength and skill would give him the spark of an idea for a combination. If not, it at least promised to be an amusing diversion. He petted Josephine idly as the announcer's voice crackled over the speakers. Of the four teams competing today, two caught his experienced eye.

  
  
"First in line for the Power Course, we have a fan favorite! Folks, it's the rampaging human cannonball, the unstoppable bullet train, Azalea Town's native son: Tadokoro Jin!"

  
  
The first in line was a tall broad-shouldered man who was laughing loudly and clapping his Pokemon on the back in encouragement during the applause. His Ursaring and Hariyama were in particularly good condition, Makishima noted, based on how well-fed and muscular they were. His third Pokemon was a Munchlax, young and scampering in excited circles – perhaps this was his debut, flanked by seasoned veterans. The crowd certainly seemed riled up to see this Tadokoro.

  
  
"And what luck – he's here on the same day! The local legend, the man who will never give up, Goldenrod City's own snake of the stone path: Kinjou Shingo!"

  
  
The second man in line radiated a calm intensity. He wore pink-tinted sunglasses, and surveyed his competition with arms folded across his chest. A Nidoqueen beside him stretched and cracked her knuckles. There was a Dunsparce resting atop the trainer's shoulder, wings fluttering. Behind them loomed a massive but impressively well-behaved Onix. When the crowd cheered, Nidoqueen pumped her fist and Onix waved his tail – they were used to performing, Makishima noted fondly.

  
  
The two trainers made eye contact, and the tension crackled between their amicable smiles. Makishima leaned forward in his seat as the announcer droned on about the picnicker and sailor behind them, who looked sorely outclassed and intimidated. This would be interesting, he was certain.

 

* * *

  
  
The Fight Dome was a welcome break from the direct sunlight. Makishima watched raptly as the concrete blocks were piled neatly before each contestant's team and the referee's whistle blew.

  
  
Tadokoro's Ursaring roared and pulverized the bricks before her with a mighty Hammer Arm. The Nidoqueen adjacent to her bellowed a challenge, balling her claws into fists and rippling with muscle. Her Superpower slammed the stack of bricks into dust. The two Pokemon snarled at each other, punching and smashing everything within their reach. Beyond them a Machop and a Shuckle powered through at their own slower pace.

  
  
Their intense cadence quickly took a toll on their stamina. The bear's nose was soon slick with moisture, her gaping jaws frothing as she panted. Nidoqueen wheezed through the stone dust, beady eyes watering as she ploughed on. Kinjou raised an eyebrow as Tadokoro planted his hands on his hips and grinned. Neither of them wanted to switch out first, Makishima thought wryly. It was a test of wills.

  
  
The crowd suddenly screamed in unison. The spectators in front of Makishima stood up, and he missed it – what happened?! Pale blue eyes snapped to the instant replay screens. Ursaring swayed on her feet and then collapsed, her stamina spent. The three-second penalty before the switch was all Nidoqueen needed to take the lead. The buzzer rang, and the first event went to Team Kinjou.

  
  
Makishima tickled his Spinarak as he waited for the intermission to end. Josephine clambered up his arm to nestle in his hair, camouflaged by the same hue of green. They watched as the stage was cleared for the second event, the chaotic Circle Push. All twelve Pokemon took up their starting positions, bristling with teeth and claws and excitement. The overhead lights dimmed, and colored spotlights blazed to life, marking different sized circles along the stage.

  
  
As soon as the referee blew the whistle, Kinjou's Onix reared to his towering full height and slammed down, sending many unlucky Pokemon flying out-of-bounds. Makishima thought that early lead might just clinch the match, but he hadn't realized Tadokoro was on a warpath. The Hariyama had only one target, and thrust her broad palms relentlessly into Onix's rocky segments. The titanic serpent lacked traction, and slid helplessly as Hariyama shepherded it to the edge. Munchlax and Ursaring were there to topple it out, and the three Pokemon cried out in triumph. One down, two to go.

  
  
The exhausted Nidoqueen fared much the same despite her tenacity, and when the buzzer finally rang, only Kinjou's evasive Dunsparce managed to score points. Team Tadokoro earned a decisive victory. The big man was wreathed in smiles when he collected his Pokemon. Kinjou adjusted his shades, expression unreadable. Makishima found a smile playing on his lips when he realized it was anyone's game again.

  
  
He shuffled from the stands back into the sunlight for the third and final event. His parasol snapped neatly open as the teams of Pokemon lined up on the mowed field in front of their respective goals. Makishima's gaze flicked from Tadokoro, to Kinjou, back to Tadokoro, wondering what the trainers had up their sleeves to clinch the win. The whistle blew, and a soccer ball dropped from the chute to land in center field.

  
  
The horde of Pokemon bellowed and surged forward as one, grappling and clawing for possession of the ball. A smudge of teal zipped between the tangle of legs and tails and began pushing the ball away from the chaos – Munchlax. Then the ground crumbled in front of his scampering paws, and to his dismay, Dunsparce burst from the burrow and stole the ball. From then on, Makishima found it hard to follow the action – a Vulpix here, a Sunflora there, but only when the scoreboard lit up with each goal could he tell who was ahead.

  
  
Kinjou's game plan was focused on defense, with Onix and Nidoqueen blocking their goal and Dunsparce harrying attackers who got too close. Tadokoro seemed all about relentless offense, with Ursaring and Hariyama knocking aside opponents and freeing the way for the energetic Munchlax to score over and over. They were far in the lead, but Makishima was surprised to note that the more balls that dropped to the field, the more points Team Tadokoro was losing because their goal was undefended. He watched, impressed, as the Dunsparce snuck in a goal here and there, slowly raising their score without ever relinquishing a single point.

  
When the whistle finally blew, Tadokoro and Kinjou had tied. It took the final points being tallied and the bonuses being awarded before a winner stood clear, and even then, it was a close match. The medal went to Team Tadokoro, all four of whom let out a roar of triumph.

 

* * *

 

  
Makishima made his way from the bleachers quickly, weaving through the exiting spectators with an excited smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. He could hear the two men conversing as they shook hands, and he wanted to catch them both.

  
  
"Next time, I will not allow you to dominate the Circle Push like that," Kinjou promised with a thin smile.

  
  
Tadokoro laughed from deep in his belly. "Using Nidoqueen's Rivalry to power up against my Ursaring was pretty clever! You really kept us on our toes. Good match!"

  
  
There was a short lull, and it looked like the trainers were getting ready to part ways. The coordinator cleared his throat.

  
  
"Have you ever considered Contests? You'd both be shoo-ins for the Tough circuit, sho," Makishima commented as way of introduction.

  
  
Kinjou and Tadokoro blinked in surprise and turned. Makishima slouched back with a hand in his pocket, his smile quirking awkwardly to one side under their scrutiny. He still held his parasol delicately in one hand. Josephine peeked out from under waves of his long hair and raised her banded forelegs in greeting. Tadokoro smiled, and Kinjou's posture relaxed subtly, so he decided to continue.

  
  
"Sorry to interrupt… I'm Makishima, a coordinator from Sinnoh. That was an amazing show. You both have great Pokemon."

  
  
Tadokoro puffed his chest out proudly, and offered a hand to shake. Makishima grasped it hesitantly, and felt his fingers half-crushed by the enthusiastic greeting. He turned to catch Kinjou's eye, and saw the man extend a single finger to Josephine, solemnly shaking her foreleg. Makishima's flagging confidence was bolstered at the charming sight, and he swallowed around the nervous lump in his throat.

  
  
"My Cradily and Wormadam could learn a lot about power and showmanship, sho. I'm a big fan… I'd like to take you out to dinner so we can talk more about technique," Makishima stated. His mouth went dry, lopsided smirk threatening to fade in the awkward silence that followed. He closed his parasol and lowered it, allowing the sunlight to warm his pallid skin.

  
  
Tadokoro faltered. "You talkin' to me or him?" he rumbled deep in his chest, and jabbed a finger at Kinjou who wore a rather amused expression.

  
  
Makishima's mouth twitched. He scratched his cheek, gaze flickering downward.

  
  
"Erm… both. That is, if you're interested in getting to know each other…"

  
  
Tadokoro blinked. Then he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck with a meaty hand. "Well, the more the merrier, I suppose! Kinjou, you're from around here, right? Do you know a good restaurant?"

  
  
Kinjou cocked an eyebrow, silently reminding them that he had not yet consented. Of course, the smile playing on his lips hinted that he was not at all opposed to the idea.

  
  
"I may," Kinjou said coolly. "Makishima, was it? I'd be interested in seeing your Cradily's moveset. I am a connoisseur of Rock and Ground types. Does your Wormadam happen to be the Sandy Cloak variety?"

  
  
Makishima drew up proudly. "Plant Cloak, actually. I specialize in Grass and Bug types myself, so any tips you could give me about optimizing Rock moves would be appreciated, sho."

  
  
Tadokoro slung his arms over both their shoulders, drawing Makishima and Kinjou in. Josephine chirped and skittered onto the crown of Makishima's head.

  
  
"Well, don't leave me out of the conversation already," the burly trainer chuckled. "If you want to stop by a watering hole before we get food, the first round's on me! I'd like to celebrate my victory."

  
  
Kinjou leveled a calm stare at Tadokoro. "Then we might as well. It could be a while before you're celebrating again, Tadokoro, I intend to challenge you as many times as needed."

  
  
Makishima barked a laugh. "You two make me want to try this sport," he admitted. "Maybe I can get you to give Contests a shot, and you'll get me to try Pokeathlon, sho."

  
  
Tadokoro and Kinjou both broke into smiles as they headed out of the Dome.


	9. Oikawa/Kuroo Fruits Basket, T

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt: Kuroo Tetsurou/Oikawa Tooru, Fruits Basket AU_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  **Warning:** this one is dubcon, abusive without a resolution :O If you read the Furuba manga you can already guess it's Akito ahaha I am sorry this took a turn for the dark but it is heavily inspired by canon so @_@ ~~at least you can assume things get better later on lol~~

 

_Long ago, God told all the animals He was hosting a banquet._

 

_"Don't be late," He commanded, and the thirteen beasts promised to arrive as quickly as they could. The cat and the rat were once neighbors, and friends, and the rat promised to wake the cat up so they could arrive early._

 

_But when that morning arrived, the rat left the cat behind without a word…_

  
  
"I thought I told you not to be late," Oikawa said playfully. The sharp intelligence behind his stare was menacing.

  
  
The head of the family was sprawled on a mat in the center of the room, lean figure draped in an extravagant robe. His bare shoulders were visible, pale from lack of exposure to sunlight. His brunet hair was coiffed into stylish waves. His sculpted features would have been handsome if they were not contorted into a condescending sneer at the sight of Kuroo slouching in the doorway, still in his school uniform.

  
  
Kuroo shivered. It was dark in the main house. It was always dark, despite the warm sunlight outdoors – the windows were never opened, curtains always drawn. The faint scent of old incense still lingered in the stale air. Oikawa preferred the somber pall that settled over the antiquated chambers he called home.

  
  
Kuroo already longed to escape the oppressive atmosphere, and he'd only been here for scant minutes. He couldn't disobey a direct summons, but he felt his skin crawl whenever Oikawa studied him like a specimen.

  
  
"Sorry," Kuroo replied nonchalantly, and rolled his shoulder in a lazy shrug. "Got caught up doing some things after school, lost track of time. I'm here now, though."

  
  
He flashed a smirk that was nothing close to sincere, and ran his hand through his rumpled bedhead hair. His palms were sweating, but he didn't want Oikawa to notice. The man was frighteningly observant, though, and he could feel those deceptively soft brown eyes piercing through him.

  
  
Oikawa stood, movements slow and deliberate. He brushed imagined dust off the sleeves of his robe, then stretched, raising elegant arms over his head.

  
  
"Some afterschool business, hm?" Oikawa hummed. "Gotten any closer to winning our bet?"

  
  
Kuroo's expression soured.

  
  
Oikawa laughed, his voice lilting musically with his amusement. "I'll take that as a 'no'," he mused, lips pursed. "You're running out of time… Just a few more months until graduation, Tetsu-chan."

  
  
"I know, I know. I'll beat the rat. I told you I could do it," Kuroo grumbled, hands balling into his jacket pockets.

  
  
Oikawa's innocent smile broadened, perfect white teeth bared in readiness to strike. "It must be important business indeed if you're willing to stake your last few months of freedom on it. I don't suppose it has anything to do with that outsider… what was his name again?"

  
  
Kuroo swallowed hard. His eyes darted to the floor. "You wouldn't understand," he muttered.

  
  
It was never wise to provoke God.

  
  
Kuroo realized his mistake when Oikawa _lunged_ , fingernails sinking red crescents into his wrist. Kuroo jerked back out of reflex, but Oikawa leaned with him, face looming uncomfortably close as he forced Kuroo's hand up between them. The cursed bracelet slid, touching both of their hands at once.

  
  
"Care to try that again, Tetsu-chan?" Oikawa whispered ominously, breath ghosting against Kuroo's cheek. Goosebumps prickled from the sensation.

  
  
"What I meant was, you'd understand if you tried it," Kuroo said softly. He was carefully still. Oikawa's nails dug in cruelly, and Kuroo gritted his teeth into a smile, unable to make eye contact. "There's a world outside of this family. You don't have to live like this. You could have friends."

  
  
Oikawa leaned up to Kuroo's ear, exhaling purposely before whispering, "Shut up, cat. You. Are. Mine. Have you forgotten your place? You are my property. You are mine, Tobio-chan is mine, Iwa-chan is mine, the entire Zodiac was born to belong to _me_ , to _love_ me. Outsiders are a diversion, but in the end, your bond to me cannot be broken. I am your god. And _when_ you fail, and lose this bet, you will be confined to isolation for the rest of your natural life, just like the cat before you, and every cat before him."

  
  
Oikawa's fingers twisted the beads on the bracelet, silently threatening to remove it. Kuroo closed his eyes. He knew what came next.

  
  
Kuroo felt lips brushing his neck, slow and lingering kisses peppering his jawline, teasing closer to his mouth. He did not resist as Oikawa's hand settled on his waist, slender fingers trailing along the crest of his jutting hip bone. The touch slipped underneath his shirt, making his stomach muscles tense. Oikawa leaned insistently, pushing him against the doorframe until Kuroo kissed back. A soft noise caught in the back of his throat as Oikawa let go of his sluggishly bleeding wrist, threading his fingers gently through his tousled hair.

  
  
"You still love me best, right, Tetsu-chan?" Oikawa crooned. "I'm being kind, allowing you to go to school and have friends. I am a merciful god. Tell me you love me."

  
  
Kuroo shuddered as teeth nipped at his earlobe. A roving hand traced up his chest beneath his shirt, sending frissons thrilling under his skin. His breath hitched as the fingers in his hair tightened, tugging his head back so that he stared at the ceiling.

  
  
"I… I love you, Oikawa. I love you," he mumbled in conditioned response. He could not disobey.

  
  
Oikawa smiled against his throat. Then perfect teeth bit into his skin, making Kuroo cry out hoarsely. His head jerked, but the fist in his hair was startlingly strong, locking him in place.

  
  
His hands flexed on air, grasping for something to hold onto, but daring not to touch Oikawa. He groaned, sagging against the doorframe as Oikawa sucked ruthlessly on the bruise he made. When Oikawa released his hold to admire his handiwork, the swollen bite mark was mottled purple and ugly red.

  
  
"Now you won't forget who you're loyal to," Oikawa winked, tracing it with his fingertip.

  
  
He withdrew so abruptly, Kuroo felt cold from the loss of contact. It was a moment before he remembered how to move. He fixed his shirt, smoothed his hair, and stared at the floor. He knew Oikawa getting bored with the game was an implicit invitation to leave, but he hesitated, half-watching through the veil of his eyelashes as Oikawa gracefully took his place on the floor mat again.

  
  
This house always got to him eventually. It drained the life from him, leaching the very spirit from his cursed body. Kuroo couldn't quite remember how the sun felt on his skin, or the taste of the popsicles he'd shared with his friends in the parking lot after classes let out. It felt like a lifetime ago. He could feel the pull, the sway that God held over him, and the inescapable fate that awaited him after graduation.

  
  
"Next time don't be late, Tetsu-chan," was the airy farewell Oikawa gave him, waving a hand in dismissal.

 


	10. Tsukishima/Yamaguchi, T

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Prompt: (playlist)_  
> [When I'm Small](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=28tZ-S1LFok) \- Phantogram  
> [Make Me Wanna Die](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=txBfhpm1jI0) \- The Pretty Reckless  
> [Monster](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GVQqZg5BisE) \- Meg Myers
> 
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> 
> **Additional warnings: spoilers for the whole S1 of Haikyuu, bullying, self-loathing, angst without resolution** ~~i'm so nice pffff~~

 

It started off so small, so innocent, that he had no way of knowing what he would become.

  
  
Tadashi stood in front of the bathroom mirror at home, squinting at his freckles, poking and prodding at his blemished skin, continuing his daily ritual of wishing he wasn't so awkward and clumsy and _ugly_ and that he could just disappear. Both of his parents had freckles too, and he tried not to be bitter that he had inherited no discernible talents from them – only their obviously foreign appearance and all the ridicule it earned him.

  
  
He was pathetic, he knew that better than anyone. Somehow, though, when that blond boy murmured the word that afternoon, he started hearing it in _his_ voice in his head. Sure, his bullies were pathetic for cutting him down when Tadashi was already cruelest to himself. But Tadashi was pathetic for caring so much that someone, anyone, stepped in to give him a break. He closed his eyes and listened to the word again, and he felt a strange flicker of contentedness in the heavy silence that followed.

  
  
Tsukishima's indifference to him took time to overcome. The tall boy insisted he didn't even remember what happened, although Tadashi refused to believe it – he'd had enough classmates pretend not to know him to recognize the lie. Tadashi just couldn't help the eager way he bounded after him in the hallways, too noisy when he sat down to share lunch, too excited to find out what music he listened to on those fancy headphones (some edgy electronica he'd never heard of) or what club he was signed up for (volleyball, which Tadashi promptly joined too) or what cartoons he liked to watch on the weekends (ones with dinosaurs).

  
  
Tsukishima stared down his nose at their classmates and kept them all at a nervous distance. They whispered behind their hands about him when they thought he wasn't looking. The blond was quiet but sharp, his gaze intelligent and judgmental and hypnotic. Tadashi shivered whenever he felt those intense eyes turn on _him_ , molten amber burning holes through his flimsy paper defenses. He still cried in the school bathrooms some days, and when he emerged subdued and puffy-eyed and wavering under Tsukishima's silent disdain, he wondered if Tsukishima was tearing him inside-out and laying bare his insecurities the way he did to everyone else.

  
  
That stare made him ache for something he didn't yet understand but desperately wanted. He felt tiny and insignificant and needy and he could hear the mantra echo in his head: _pathetic, pathetic, pathetic_.

  
  
He felt, rather than noticed, when the barriers between them began to shift. The venom in Tsukishima's voice was less potent when he snapped: shut up, Yamaguchi _(sorry Tsukki!)_. It was a bizarre reflex to smile at that, but Tadashi positively _beamed_ when Tsukishima stopped ignoring him and began to share his observations out loud. He was as cruel as he was beautiful, the worst bully of them all when he wanted to be, and Tadashi clung to his side and leered at the classmates who put him down and sniggered when they got what was coming to them.

  
  
He started to realize it around the end of middle school when they took all of the same entrance exams. Tadashi stayed up late every night to study (stealing cups of his father's bitter coffee to his bedroom, drinking too much of it on an empty stomach and puking around midnight, lying to his family about why he was pale and jittery and exhausted). He was so obsessed with memorizing formulas and English and history that he didn't have time to rue his freckles (and acne and cracking voice and knobby knees and greasy hair and everything else he hated) anymore.

  
  
The prospect of going to a high school that did not have Tsukishima's overwhelming presence was devastating. He would have done anything not to be left behind. _Anything_.

  
  
He smiled so hard his cheeks ached on their first day in Karasuno colors.

  
  
Tsukishima turned heads everywhere he went – he was tall, handsome, clever, and vicious. Girls still whispered about him, but now there was giggling and blushing and sometimes they asked Tadashi about him and made him feel strangely invisible and protective all at once.

  
  
Tadashi had grown taller too, but not as tall as Tsukki. He was still awkward in the throes of a merciless puberty, his limbs too long and scrawny and uncoordinated, making him an average volleyball player and nothing to look at. He studied hard just to keep up with the other college-bound first years. He wasn't sure where he fit in outside of Tsukishima's influence, and never strayed far.

  
  
It was okay as long as he had Tsukishima – as long as they had each other. They could snicker behind their hands all day at the shallow stupidity of the masses without needing to fit in.

  
  
Then Tadashi found himself alone on the bench staring at the backs of teammates better than him, and it began to burn.

  
  
A strange ache coiled and twisted in his gut as he watched Tsukishima interact with Hinata and Kageyama, watched the first years slowly, steadily, begin to thaw Tsukishima's frosty demeanor. Tadashi knew the difference between actual contempt and a mere façade, after all. And Tadashi was proud for Tsukki, happy to see him loosening up and even enjoying himself in his own sardonic way. He wanted Tsukishima to be happy.

  
  
But _he_ wanted to be the _reason_ Tsukishima was happy, and he was not, he was left behind after all. He wasn't good enough. He was never enough.

  
  
He finally realized what he had become when the volleyball club bussed out to training camp. Tadashi lay on his back in the quiet of the night and listened to the snoring of his worn out teammates sprawled on their futons. Tsukishima was at his side, washed pale in the moonlight from the cabin window, his slumbering expression unguarded and gentle. Tadashi stared at the profile of the face inches away from his own, marveling at how much younger he looked without his glasses and trademark sneer, at how that delicate blond hair carried the faint scent of strawberries. Tadashi's fingers twisted in his sheets, hot tears of frustration prickling his eyes.

  
  
He was hopelessly in love with Tsukishima and he had never hated himself more.

  
  
During the practice match against Nekoma, Tadashi's stare was the one boring holes now. His eyes were riveted on the number eleven jersey the whole time, the strong shoulders that filled out black and orange fabric, the impossibly long legs that arched with every graceful jump and landed with perfect footing every time. Tadashi felt his heart leap every time the ball came into contact with those lean fingers. His longing was painfully obvious, but no one even glanced at him long enough to notice.

  
  
Tadashi was ugly on the inside now.

  
  
His feelings had grown too big for his skin and he could no longer contain them. Bitter jealousy made him snap at the pretty girls that wanted to know more about Tsukki (because they did not _deserve_ to know his softer side, they had to earn that right). Tadashi practiced harder at volleyball, begged for help, spent hours after school at Shimada Mart with the same single-minded intensity he had drawn on to ace Karasuno's entrance exams. He hoarded time with Tsukishima off the court, wanting to be stared through and noticed and torn apart, even though Tsukki did not deny him attention. He wanted more.

  
  
He got his chance when Karasuno faced the giants: Aobajousai. He watched Kageyama splinter under the pressure, Sugawara get his chance to come off the bench, and then time stopped for Tadashi. He was called to pinch serve, all his hard work leading to that moment, that single chance to be _good enough_.

  
  
He stood with knocking knees and bile in his throat, clutching a volleyball between sweaty palms as his teammates collectively held their breath, and wondered if Tsukishima would smile if they won the set.

  
  
But he wasn't good enough to find out.

  
  
Tsukishima didn't call him pathetic that evening when he sobbed into his rice along with everyone else at the table. Tadashi flinched when he felt fingertips brush against his shoulder, a ghost of a touch meant to convey comfort. He couldn't make eye contact.

  
  
And Tadashi's heart broke all over again when he realized Tsukishima _did_ like him, probably more than anyone else, but that wasn't enough for _him_. He still wanted more.


	11. Rin/Haru, T

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: [image](https://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/5902.html?thread=2272014#cmt2272014)

 

He could _feel_ the heavy bass more distinctly than he could hear it. The beats were muffled by the sea of gyrating people, but the vibrations thrummed through his sternum and made the pit of his stomach flip. The DJ huddled over their equipment as one song began to bleed seamlessly into the next, flicking switches to control the sprays of colored light that scattered playfully across the ceiling.

  
  
Haru's blue eyes scanned the dance floor, sweeping impassively over the array of exposed skin, neon body paint, and glow sticks. Clubs were loud and hot, and there was not nearly enough water, just like the rest of Tokyo. But he was drawn to these underground places for reasons he could not fully explain. The rhythm of dancing was not unlike swimming, he supposed, and when the thoughts he could not say out loud reached a fevered pitch in his mind, he liked to drown them out with primal music and _forget_.

  
  
Haru never brought anyone with him. He didn't like to talk at all when it required shouting over the bass and straining to hear a reply. Socializing required energy he was saving for the floor. He didn't care to know anyone here, not really, although there was one dancer whose company he looked forward to on the nights they were both there. They would fall in step and share the floor for hours, then part before daybreak. He never exchanged names or numbers afterward; that would ruin it. That fleeting glimmer of connection was all he needed.

  
  
He caught himself looking for the redhead among the crowd, and shook it off; he was not here to hook up, he was only here to dance.

  
  
He slipped gracefully from the barstool and into the current of the crowd. His expression was serene and distant as he swayed to the beat, clapping his hands in sync with the song he thought he'd heard before – maybe last weekend, or the weekend before that. Several drunken bodies pressed too close to his, hot and laughing and suffocating, and Haru neatly sidestepped to peel away from them.

  
  
He bumped into someone's back, and glanced over his shoulder, lips parted in mild surprise. The man in the black hood continued to move with the rhythm, but he met Haru's eyes with a startled smile.

  
  
The strobe light kicked on, and Haru blinked quickly, piecing together the sensations as the imagery flickered on and off before his eyes. The line of strong shoulders visible against the folds of loose fabric. Red eyes and preternaturally sharp teeth gleamed in the dark. A hand clasped firm around his wrist, pulling him in. His pulse spiked at the touch of something wild and animal and _free_. It was _him_.

  
  
He did not resist. Haru's eyes closed, and he exhaled the breath that was caught in his chest, let go of the tension coiled in his shoulders.

  
  
"Make us free," he whispered along with the music, and leaned into the hands that slid low and possessive on his hips. He raised his arms in time with the song, and surrendered to the flow. Heat tickled the hair against his ear, a growled phrase in accented English that he did not understand, that he was not _supposed_ to understand, and then they moved together.


	12. Oikawa/Kuroo, T

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: [image](https://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/5902.html?thread=2150670#cmt2150670)

 

Oikawa preened as he skipped down the hallway toward his dorm. He combed his hair with his fingers just to make sure his signature style was intact, then pushed the door open dramatically.

  
  
"Tetsu-chan, you'll never believe what I was told today!" he chirped, eyes bright. He struck a proud pose, though his cheeks were still telltale pink from the lavish flattery he'd received after class.

  
  
His roommate was sprawled on the lower bunk, sheets bunched over his shirtless torso. Kuroo yawned and glanced up from the glow of his phone, tousled bedhead alluding to his unwillingness to attend any class that started before noon. The corner of his mouth pulled into a smirk, but he gave a noncommittal grunt and glanced back at his screen.

  
  
"Tetsu-chaaan, pay attention to me," Oikawa pouted, and flounced over to sit on the bed next to him. "Stop distracting Kozume-chan for a minute. He still needs to graduate high school with respectable grades if you expect him to attend this university," he added slyly, and Kuroo set aside the phone with a sour grimace. Kenma was in his third year at Nekoma, and the distance was a bit of a sore spot for Kuroo, which of course made it an easy button for Oikawa to push when he wanted a reaction.

  
  
"Fine, fine, I'll humor you. What did the Grand King's admirers have to say this fine morning?" Kuroo drawled.

  
  
Oikawa smiled broadly, choosing to ignore the sarcasm in his roommate's tone. "I was approached by several lovely art majors. Artists, Tetsu-chan! They were like: 'Oikawa-san, you're pretty like an actor!' 'You're so tall and athletic – you'd be really good at modeling!' 'Tooru-san has such nice hands, don't you think?'"

  
  
"You're right, I don't believe it," Kuroo quipped.

  
  
Oikawa squawked in dismay and yanked the sheets away in punishment. Kuroo groaned at the cold air and snatched halfheartedly to try and get the covers back, to no avail. "Too early for this bullshit," he whined. "Go Skype Iwaizumi about it, he can't punch you through the internet."

  
  
Oikawa stood up and dumped the sheets on the floor, flashing his cheeriest smile. "I'm going to send Iwa-chan the pictures as a surprise! You didn't even let me get to the best part, Tetsu-chan! Since we don't have volleyball practice tonight, they asked me to volunteer as a model for their free draw session!" He made a victory sign and winked.

  
  
Kuroo stared blankly.

  
  
"The evening class…?" he repeated slowly. Oikawa nodded.

  
  
"Life drawing?" Kuroo prompted, and Oikawa nodded again, beaming.

  
  
"That's the one with nude models. Oikawa. Did you just volunteer to pose in front of your classmates, _nude_ …?"

  
  
Kuroo raised an eyebrow. Oikawa's smile faltered. He laughed a little too loudly, quickly waving his hands in airy dismissal. "Oh, Tetsu-chan, we're legal adults now! Don't be a prude. If our classmates want to appreciate my beauty and use it for the purposes of creating art, who am I to deny them that right?"

  
  
There was a long silence, which was broken when Kuroo guffawed into his hand. Oikawa's eartips flushed pink.

  
  
"…You're full of shit," Kuroo chortled. "But you're too proud to back out now, aren't you? Just because they said you look pretty – ohoho, still wanna send pictures to Iwaizumi?"

  
  
Oikawa sputtered, his façade cracking. "Th-that's-! Probably not necessary now that I think about it!"

  
  
"You _did_ want it to be a surprise," Kuroo cackled, wicked grin spreading ear to ear. "Although that's a bold move, sending surprise dick pics-"

  
  
"Hey! At least I'm actually doing the modeling thing," Oikawa sniffed. "I gave my word to my lovely admirers and I will follow through! As if you would ever be bothered to volunteer for anything. You just laze around pining for your old setter. While I can certainly understand why you find setters attractive, this is the college experience, and I intend to make the most of it by trying new things, unlike you, Tetsu-chan."

  
  
His roommate just flopped over and let out an exasperated groan into his pillow. Oikawa glanced flippantly back at Kuroo, waiting. When Kuroo didn't move, Oikawa strode to his desk and sat down, figuring that was the end of the conversation and he'd gotten the last word. He opened his laptop and typed out the first few lines of the essay he'd been assigned that morning.

  
  
"Fine then, I'll do it too."

  
  
Oikawa blinked. "Do what," he responded blankly, turning from his schoolwork.

  
  
Kuroo rolled gracefully off the mattress and rose to his full height, cocking his head and smirking. "I'll model tonight too. I volunteer. Consider it a pact so neither of us can back out at the last minute or blackmail each other later. So will you get off my case about Kenma?"

  
  
Oikawa stared stupidly at his shirtless roommate, eyes lingering too long on the sharp angles of broad shoulders and lean muscle. Kuroo stretched his arms overhead when he saw the jealous way he was being stared at, and flexed his abs shamelessly. Oikawa clucked his tongue in disapproval and turned away, pointedly ignoring Kuroo's satisfied chuckle. The former captains saw enough of each other in the university locker rooms, but Kuroo's casual nudity around the dorms was more distracting. The modeling session would certainly be an interesting experience.

  
  
"Fine by me! We'll pose together and let the artists decide who's a more worthy subject. Don't be offended when they all draw me, Tetsu-chan. They did ask me personally, and you're just a stray cat who decided to tag along," Oikawa boasted, and stuck out his tongue.

  
  
Kuroo glanced down as his phone buzzed. "Oh, Kenma wants to know if you regret provoking me because now everyone in the university will see I'm hotter than you," he stated with a mischievous grin.

  
  
"Liar!! Kozume-chan did not say that and also it's not true!" Oikawa whined petulantly, slamming his laptop shut. "Tetsu-chan is the worst! I'm going to the library. I won't see you until tonight!"

  
  
"Looking forward to stripping with you, dear," Kuroo called teasingly into the hallway as his roommate retreated, burying his furious blush in his textbook. Then Kuroo bundled up the covers and crawled back into bed for a quick catnap before the fun began.


	13. Iwaizumi/Oikawa, G

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: [image](https://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/5902.html?thread=2038030#cmt2038030)

 

"Good night," Oikawa sang over the dormitory railing, waving airily at his dispersing teammates.

  
  
They mumbled tired farewells to each other, and wondered silently as they shuffled off how their captain still had so much energy after the grueling hours of practice. Kindaichi and Kunimi exchanged curious glances when Oikawa lingered near Iwaizumi's room – wasn't his room on the other side of the building? – but they were first-years, and the upperclassmen shooed them along with familiar ease. This was an old routine they were all wise to, although even they didn't know the extent of it.

 

Oikawa winked at them before they turned the corner, and then they were left by themselves in the gloom. The outdoor lights hummed noisily against the quiet backdrop of evening.

 

Iwaizumi narrowed his eyes and glared. "You never get tired of showing off, do you," he grumbled.

 

Oikawa straightened and smiled. The expression was bright and plastic and stretched fake across his handsome features but did not reach his eyes. "Whatever do you mean, Iwa-chan?" he asked with feigned innocence.

  
  
Iwaizumi's jaw clenched, and he yanked the door open with more force than was necessary. "If you piss me off, I'll kick you out tonight," he threatened.

  
  
They both knew he didn't mean it.

  
  
Their sports bags were slung unceremoniously near the door, along with their shoes. Iwaizumi shrugged out of his practice clothes and stumbled wearily into the bathroom to brush his teeth, clad only in his boxers. Oikawa followed in his sweatpants and undershirt, his own toothbrush stashed by the sink where he'd left it the night prior, and the night before that.

  
  
Neither of them remembered the last time he'd slept in his own bed. Before high school dorms, they were middle school neighbors, and before that, there had been elementary school sleepovers, and Oikawa really couldn't care to recall exactly how it started (something about a fear of the dark and alien abductions and wanting someone to be there when he woke up so he never had to be alone). His peculiar brand of neediness was something Iwaizumi had grown up with – every annoying quirk and ploy for attention was as natural to him as the feel of a volleyball against his palm. They both needed it, now. 

  
  
(Neither of them remembered the last time he'd slept in his own bed, but they both remembered the last time he didn't sleep in Iwaizumi's – practicing by himself when the manic energy would not allow Oikawa to rest, slamming serve after serve over the net until he collapsed, pale and shaking and broken. They both knew the nights were easier when he went willingly into Iwaizumi's embrace; when his stubborn pride did not force him to tear himself to pieces.)

  
  
Too tired to even think about homework, Iwaizumi set his clock alarm and flicked out the lights. Oikawa hovered near the edge of the bed, fingering the hem of his shirt, too-wide eyes gleaming through the shadows. He always waited for Iwaizumi to lay down first, but he never waited long. He clambered quickly after him, burrowing under the covers and snaking long limbs around the familiar contours of his body, desperate from holding himself back all day in public.

 

Iwaizumi grumbled in halfhearted protest, but did not resist as Oikawa nuzzled into his spiky hair and let out a sigh of relief. 

  
  
"I saw you limping today. You need to take it easy on that damn knee," Iwaizumi growled into the darkness. "Stop showing off in front of the first-years. They're impressed, okay? You made your point."

  
  
Oikawa whined in protest. His long fingers trailed delicately down Iwaizumi's arms, tracing the lines of muscles and veins and leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. "Iwa-chan is so bossy," he murmured childishly into the back of Iwaizumi's neck. 

  
  
The ace rolled over on the small bed and wrapped his arms firmly around Oikawa's slender frame. He pressed a kiss to his captain's forehead, then bumped their faces together affectionately.

  
  
"Shut up, Assikawa, and get some sleep."

  
  
"So vulgar, Iwa-chan."

  
  
"I don't care. Just shut up."

  
  
"But I-"

  
  
"No. Good night."

  
  
Oikawa squirmed within the circle of Iwaizumi's strong arms, wriggling until he could maneuver his own arms again. His hands settled against the small of Iwaizumi's back, face nestled against the rise and fall of his chest. Iwaizumi's steady breathing began to lull him into drowsiness as it did every night. He relaxed, mind going blissfully blank. 

  
  
"…I love you, Iwa-chan," he whispered to the reliable heartbeat thrumming in his ear.

  
  
"Love you too, Tooru. Now go to sleep."


End file.
